Lament For The Living
by hiddenhibernian
Summary: Regret buys no second chances. On a rainy Halloween night, the headmaster of Hogwarts counts the price of glory.


**With sincere thanks to my beta DarkIceAngelFlare. Any remaining mistakes are my own.**

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><p><strong>Lament For The Living<strong>

**-oOo-**

At every fork in the road, Severus had taken the wrong turn. He didn't hold himself entirely to blame, considering the poor rewards for virtue that had been held up to him, but the choices had been his alone.

He scowled at his own reflection in the window, seated behind the ornate desk that had served generations of Headmasters. He'd been exalted beyond his wildest dreams: who'd have believed that the scruffy, bad-tempered Snape boy would end up as the Headmaster of Hogwarts? And yet, he'd give his life and whatever was left of his soul to undo all that he'd done.

No one knew better than Severus Snape that regret bought no second chances.

His quill snapped in two under the merciless pressure of his long fingers, and the tiny sound echoed in the unforgiving stillness of the Headmaster's office. It made some of the dozing portraits start briefly. Naturally, the most annoying of them lacked the grace to even pretend to be sleeping. Instead, he interpreted Severus' uncharacteristic inactivity as an invitation.

"Would you at least not forgive yourself, Severus?" he asked, like a father to the prodigal son.

"You've already said everything that could possibly be said on the subject, Albus. At length. May I suggest that silence would be more effective at this point?" Dilys Derwent said wearily, when it became obvious that no other reply would be forthcoming.

"Don't you think you deserve some happiness?" Dumbledore continued undaunted, "Before it's too late – "

Severus' temper got the better of him before he could stop himself: "A little late, isn't it? You have made your opinion clear long ago of who matters and who doesn't. If I didn't deserve your concern at sixteen, I fail to see what I've done to merit it now."

Dumbledore opened his mouth to reply, but Dilys interfered first: "I wouldn't, Albus. Really."

It didn't matter; Severus wasn't going to lose his composure again. Other than gusts of wind rattling the windows and occasional bangs and shouts from the Hogsmeade Halloween celebrations, silence reigned. It wasn't until the other Slytherin headmaster flitted back to his frame that Severus finally stirred.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Nothing. Quiet as the grave. Quite fitting, considering..." Phineas did not approve of what had become of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and he was more peevish than usual when he returned from his regular visits to Grimmauld Place. Apparently, no longer being the only Slytherin headmaster wasn't enough to compensate for the lack of living Blacks.

Severus sunk back into his seat, this time fingering the Sword of Gryffindor. He let it slide halfway out of its scabbard, tilting the blade from side to side. No doubt he'd be deemed unfit to wield it. Or did the lack of living candidates mean that he'd at last be found worthy?

The sword remained undrawn. He'd survived too much to throw his life away at a whim, even now.

The sky lit up with fireworks. Severus remembered other nights, when Hogsmeade had been ablaze with the sickly light of flashing curses. There would be no skirmishes tonight: the remnants of the Order spent most of their time running from the Death Eaters. It was more than two years since Potter had fallen at Malfoy Manor, but still they fought on.

How Fate must be pleased with that particular bit of irony: there was nothing Severus wouldn't have done to save James Potter's son, but in the end it had been utterly beyond his powers.

Potter had been dead before he'd even got there.

Given half the chance, Dumbledore would say that no man could live without hope. Severus had been proving it wasn't true ever since he'd grasped numbly at Narcissa's damask curtains to remain upright, reflexively keeping his cover even though it was far too late.

He'd never expected to survive a second war, but he hadn't realised how the spark of hope that there would be brighter days ahead had kept him going. Not until it was gone.

All that was left to do was to tinker along the edges. To use his place at the Dark Lord's side to ease the burden of suffering a little, to protect his students from the world that would consume them as soon as they left school. It was mostly futile, but then most of the things he'd ever attempted had been doomed to fail before he even started. There was nothing left he could do for Lily now; nothing but this. Giving up would mean to let go of her, and Severus would never do that.

As long as he lived and breathed, as long as he had even a spark of magic left, as long as there was a scrap of soul he could call his own, he'd keep on doing whatever he could for Lily's sake.

Always.

Severus sheathed the sword and stood up, the folds of his robes unfurling around him. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had business to attend to: there would be no more maudlin reflections tonight.


End file.
